


Through the Looking Glass

by china_shop



Category: Fandom RPF
Genre: Crack, Fic, Gen, Meta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-02-16
Updated: 2007-02-16
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Other!me rolls her eyes. "You are to me what Callum is to Ray. By which I mean, you think you're realer than me." She pokes me in the solar plexus. "But you're not."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through the Looking Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Today is Friday, and that makes me happy. Weekend, weekend, weekend! In celebration, a not particularly flattering self-portrait, cruiseliner style.

The cupboard door to the interior workings of the building where I work is open again today, and I'm convinced once more that it's a portal to the cruiseliner boiler room -- sort of like the wardrobe in the Narnia books but without the fur coats. I walk past it three times, each time increasingly tempted to squeeze inside and see if I can make my way up onto the passenger deck. On my fourth pass, on my way back from the kitchen, I succumb. I hunker down and shuffle awkwardly through the little door, still holding my big glass of water.

Inside there are wires and red pipes, and the air is thick and greasy. A dim narrow corridor crowded with ducts and dust stretches out before me and I follow it, putting my hand over the glass to stop the water getting dusty and gross. I nearly trip over a screwdriver someone's left lying about and the water sploshes on the floor but thankfully it only splashes the wires a little. I slow down and walk more carefully, grateful that I'm wearing sneakers.

A low rhythmic boom edges into my consciousness and when I turn to look back over my shoulder it's all shadows and pipes: I can't see where I came in anymore. I bite my lip and go on. There's hardly any light. And then the corridor ends. I put the glass by my feet and feel around. The pipes are greasy and gritty, and the ceiling is low over my head. I run my fingers lightly over the wall in front of me, feeling a shuddering vibration, and then finding a doorknob. It's sheer luck. I turn it and push it forward, and the noise is deafening. I take a step forward and then go back to find my glass, somehow managing not to knock it over in the process of picking it up. My heart is pounding in time to the ship's pistons. I wonder if I'll ever go home again. Even if I can't go back, I suppose I could try to convince the ship's captain to take us to New Zealand -- but even if I succeeded, would it be the real New Zealand, or some fictional version? Would the boy be there?

I swallow my fears and make my way through the boiler room. There are a few engineers working away; they don't pay me any attention. "Um," I say at one of them, a large shaggy-haired guy in orange coveralls. "Which way to upstairs?"

"You're not supposed to be down here," he says gruffly, and points me toward the exit.

"Sorry," I say, chastened, and I hurry up the worn metal stairs. My footsteps clang loudly and I look apologetically over my shoulder, but the engineer guy has turned back to his work.

I take a deep breath and try to stop feeling like a trespasser: this is _our_ cruiseliner! It's real. It's large and noisy and has pumps and pistons and everything. Plus, bonus, I didn't have to come through the vehicle deck to get here. I soothe myself and walk up the shabby utilitarian stairs and emerge on deck.

Wow. We really are at sea! The blue waves stretch to the horizon and the air is unimaginably fresh. The ship is painted white and there are rust stains around some of the portholes but she seems sturdy and, wow, _real_! I look around. There are coils of rope and drums of something or other, and it all looks very industrial. You must be here somewhere, right? And then I won't feel so awkward being here. It was never this awkward in the stories. In the stories, I belonged.

The ship rolls a little and I stumble and spill my water again, all down my jeans, but I keep heading upwards, past about three signs facing the other way that say, "Authorised Personnel Only" (oops!) and finally I emerge on what looks like a passenger deck. And, yes! I spot a sign that says "C Deck" and has a map.

I stare at the map and count the number of turns and try to memorise where the stairs are (hi! I once got lost in a township that only has three streets!), and then I carefully navigate up to the B Deck and head for the pool. At one stage I think I hear Dief barking and I look around wildly. But I don't see anyone I know, and I start to wonder whether I'm on the right ship. That would _suck_ , if I'd been magically transported to the cruiseliner and it was the _wrong_ cruiseliner! I press my lips together firmly and soldier on, but my nerve is failing.

And then I turn a corner and there is the pool, and Fraser and Ray are in it, in swimming trunks, splashing each other and laughing -- it's a heart-stopping sight; I wonder if I should be more blasé about it, but I can barely tear my eyes away. When I finally do, I see you! You're lying on a deck chair with your sunglasses on, and beside you there's an empty chair just waiting for me! Yes! I give a little skip and this time I don't spill the water because it's pretty much all gone by now anyway. I go over. "Hi! Look! I made it for real!"

You pull your sunglasses down your nose. "Where's my margarita?"

"Um." I raise my eyebrows.

"Here," says a voice behind me, and I whirl around and come face to face with--

me. I'm tanned and relaxed looking, and wearing a white floaty shirt and forest green loose linen trousers. I'm holding two cocktails and squinting at, uh, me. Oh.

"What're you doing here?" says other!me, sounding suspicious.

"I came through the boiler room," I say. "Be nice!" Honestly, if I can't even be nice to myself...

"Well," you say.

"Well," says other!me.

"Um?" I reply.

"There can't be two of me," says other!me. "It's far too confusing." She's bristling territorially, which seems wildly unfair.

"It's a big ship," I point out.

"There's only one of everyone else," she counters.

"What about Callum and Ray?" you say.

"Yeah!" I agree defensively. Then I look at you. "Um, what _about_ Callum and Ray?"

Other!me rolls her eyes. "You are to me what Callum is to Ray. By which I mean, you think you're realer than me." She pokes me in the solar plexus. "But you're not."

"Well, I'm _nicer_ than you," I say, batting her hand away.

You nod agreement, but don't say anything.

 

 **mergatrude:** Well, I don't want to get into an argument with either of you, and I want you to be friends with yourself, even if you ARE nicer. *g*

 **china:** Where's your loyalty? You should be siding with other!me -- she's just feeling threatened, you know!

 **mergatrude:** I'm trying to be nice to you - you're obviously in shock, and other!you is more robust, having been through several deeply traumatic events in the past year.

And I'm on both your sides! Or nobody's side. Or more likely my own side. *eats a large helping of the quiche of confusion*

 **china:** Sorry. I am confused, too, and possibly suffering from terminal meta.

 **mergatrude:** People have died from that you know. People get crucified if they don't stop trying to force meta on other people. You should be careful.


End file.
